Nails for Breakfast, Tacks for Snacks
by marianna
Summary: Written for the Loveathons' Epic Story Challenge over at Lj. Set 4 years into the future. At the graduation party of an old friend, Logan tells Veronica a secret that could shatter their relationship. Spoilers through all of S2, just to be safe.


"You're doing what?" Belatedly, you realize that these probably aren't the best circumstances to be telling her under.

"Veronica, I can-"

"When did you even have time to apply?" She hasn't bothered to move, and you're thinking that's probably a good sign. She's distracted, which you can work to your advantage if you do it right. Your fingers rustle up the side of her arm leaving goose bumps in their wake, but she catches your hand before it comes to rest on her cheek, fire in her eyes. "I was just trying to think how much time, over the past four and a half years that we've spent together," She continues, and it's all you can do to keep from laughing, because she still hasn't _moved_. "But now it's occurring to me that _that_ is far too large a number to calculate. So I'm trying to see how little time we _haven't_ spent together." Her fingers go to rub against the back of her neck, a favorite in high stress situations, and you move to rub it for her out of habit, but she slaps your fingers away, finally realizing that she's still perched on your lap, the sparkly jersey material of her black dress bunched around her thighs. "So is it the sex you don't like?" She asks deadpan, her eyes cold as she reties the straps on her back. "Because you _could_ have just told me. We can cut back -" She's teasing you, you can tell because her eyes are crinkling, but at the same time, you can feel the harsh undercurrent beneath her words. "Honestly though Logan, do you really think I'm going to be able to have sex with you after the memory of this? When we were just about to…and you ruined it by telling me…telling me…that?"

"I thought you'd get over it."

"Oh you did, did you? I have a feeling that's not going to happen any time soon."

"C'mon, Veronica. This isn't that bad." It's your turn to be annoyed. You thought she'd be happy for you. Proud that you made it this far, not…not well, this. You shift uncomfortably beneath her and you're almost positive she growls as she crawls off your lap. She leans against the edge of the desk, only a few inches away; arms crossed awkwardly, her eyes focused and beady on yours.

"Explain to me how this isn't a bad thing, Logan?" You hear the faint strains of the orchestra from the garden party going on a floor below you, cringing because of course, the plot couldn't be furthered without a key musical score.

"I thought you'd be proud of me." It takes a lot for you not to pout. You're 22, pouting should definitely be out of the repertoire by now, but you can't help it. You're hurt that she isn't more supportive and after the spoonful of petulance she just served up, she deserves some of it back.

"Wanna know when I would've been proud? _Watching_ you apply. Seeing the painstaking process would have made this more real. At least clued me in a little- or…wait. Actually _knowing_ that you had higher aspirations for your future than your Philosophy major and Poly Sci minor couldn't fill. That would have done it. Instead you _hid it_ from me."

"I didn't hide _anything_ from you, Veronica."

"Oh really?" She's doing the eyebrow thing you've always aspired to learn, and you'd laugh, except she really is mad, and suddenly you wish you had told her earlier. Of course if you had, you'd have actually had to _talk_ to her about it, and this is the one non-Veronica decision you've made in a while. In forever, maybe. It should feel good-_great_, even, except for the fact that she's hurt, and looking at you as if you kicked Back Up. _Hard_. "Okay. Explain to me then why I didn't see you diligently working on applications at the kitchen table, your horn rimmed glasses glinting in the candle light, hour after hour, day after day, begging me to rescue you because there was no end in sight. Why did you let me plan? Why didn't you stop me if you knew where we were headed?" Her 'we' warms you for a second until you realize what she means. Where you were headed in terms of breaking up. Which you can't do. Ever. You don't know how you would survive without her, and it's suddenly dawning on you that maybe not telling her about this before now wasn't the best of ideas.

"I'm sorry." You say, because you are. Not that you applied-not even that you got in-although of course, that takes the edge off a little. No, you're sorry because you could lose her, and she's more important than any of it. Than _all_ of it, actually. Which, now that you think of it, was the point of applying in the first place; finding a non-Veronica hobby and running with it. Finding something not detrimental to your health to keep your mind from constantly thinking about her. She shifts again, glitter from her dress falling to her arm, and you imagine slipping the dress down, finishing what you'd come to this room to start.

"What are you sorry for, Logan?" Her voice snaps you out of your naked Veronica against the desk fantasy and you look into her eyes, surprised to find sadness there, but admiration too. You'd figured it too early for her to be impressed, even though it's all you'd ever wanted.

"That you're hurt." The flash of anger in her baby blues tells you that this is exactly the response she'd been expecting and waiting for and she shifts again, sighing this time and as a beam of moonlight filters in through the picture window, you swear you can see tears in her eyes. You doubt it though. Veronica Mars is infallible. Nothing you could do, could hurt her enough to make her cry. At least you hope not. At least, not anymore.

"Can I ask you a question?" Her words hang in the air. You want to be five, point out the fact that she did in fact just ask you a question, but you don't. Because it wouldn't make her smile, and it doesn't really surprise you to lean that her smiles are what you live for. _Especially_ in times like these.

"You can ask me anything, Veronica." You try and smile up at her, sunny and open, but bright eyed and bushy tailed doesn't do much for you, and the corners of your eyes don't crinkle up as they should.

"Is that why we came here?"

"What?" This isn't the question you'd been expecting, and you're genuinely surprised as you stare up at her, questions of your own pouring from your eyes.

"Is this-" She points between you, the golden glass bangles on her wrists banging together as she does so. "Is your _acceptance_ why we're here? Is that why we came to Maryland? Do you not really know this Bowman guy whose party we're at? Did ya just get lucky? When we were driving by the area did you see balloons or a catering truck and just think 'OOOH, party? Let me break my life altering news to Veronica there-and OH, as an added bonus, since we're in the state where my life altering news lives, I can drive her there later, so she can see how pretty it is and not be mad anymore?'"

"I-"

"What? What could you possibly say that could justify this, Logan? I thought we were good. I thought were _happy_. I thought this was it. I finally knew what happy was, because hey, I was living it. I guess not." She moves to leave but stops halfway to the door, shoulders slumping. "The whole great parting words thing only works when we're actually parting. I don't know anyone down there, you have the keys to the rental car, and we're sitting next to each other on the airplane ride home tomorrow. Unless…" Her face falls again, her cheeks pale and ashen. "Tell me you're coming home. You _are_ coming home, right?" There's a tremor of panic under the angry timbre of her voice, and you nod because you have to. Even if you hadn't been going back with her-which you are, but even if you hadn't been, you'd have changed your ticket in an instant if it meant getting that look off of her face.

Except there's no way to fix it now; there's absolutely nothing you can do to make it better, it's all your fault and you're thinking of seriously killing Wallace Fennell when you get home. You're talking bloody murder. You take a second to envision it, how he'll squirm, beg for forgiveness, and how you'll save him, only because he's Veronica's best friend and killing him would probably make her unhappier than she is right now. Which doesn't seem to be very possible.

"Of course I'm coming home." You mumble after a moment, even though the time to reassure her has passed.

"So you're not going to pull a _Second Helpings_ on me?"

"Oh you and your references." You tease, reaching out to tweak her cheek. She recoils as if you'd slapped her, and it's finally dawning on you-really setting in, that you fucked up. "I'm afraid that one just flies right over my head." You continue easily, and she rolls her eyes, but it isn't in the bad way. Maybe there's hope after all. You aren't holding your breath, though.

"I got it as a gift. From _Alicia_." She stretches out the word, enunciating it as if the woman she has known as her stepmother for the past two years could pop out and whip him into shape at any moment.

"And is it a coming of age story about a girl, her first love and their eating habits? What is it with you women and your obsession with the food industry?" You make a bold move, reaching across the desk and clamping your hands down on shoulders, your eyes dancing merrily for the first time since you'd whispered her your news. "You are not fat, Veronica!" You exclaim, and you can tell you've won this portion of the battle at least, when you can feel the laughter coursing through her.

"Thank you." She mutters, flinging your hands off and settling back against the desk. She can't be comfortable, you can see where the edge of the desk is hitting the small of her back, but she isn't even gritting her teeth. She's a trooper, your Veronica.

"_Second Helpings_ is the-yep, you guessed it, the second installment of a series, of which there are three, I think. I didn't read anything after the second one, because it was so-" She catches herself before she continues, looking into your eyes. Hers are guarded-as expected, but there's something else there as well. "It's all right, if you like that kind of thing. The only reason I even bothered with it was because after reading it with her book group, Alicia ran home, and said I had to. Because the couple in the series sounded just like us."

"Us." You're skeptical. You can't quite imagine anyone rewriting a story like yours and having it work under different circumstances. Or at least, not unless the person who was writing it knew you. Or knew someone that did? Know you, that is. This train of thought is making your head hurt, and Veronica's blatant disapproval of you isn't helping much.

"Well, not us _exactly_." _Aha_. Her cheeks have the grace to turn slightly pinker than usual as she mumbles the words. Under normal circumstances you would tease her, the Veronica Mars you know doesn't blush. But these aren't normal circumstances, and judging by the look on her face, you're not sure how you'll ever get back there.

"Veronica, I know how you thrive on our banter. Believe me, I do too. It's the best kind of foreplay imaginable, but _c'mon_. You must be weakening in your advanced years, because comparing us to a book? One that you know I can't have possibly read because the title alone has me wanting to scream CHICK!BOOK and run from the room? It really must be an unauthorized biography, or you just wanted to trip me up. Either way, the director of our little melodrama really wants to scrap this script and zoom back in on the one where we have hot, sweaty sex on the floor of Mr. Lewis' library."

"Which would solve what?" She wants to know. And suddenly, the ball is back in your court.

"My hard on." You're thankful for many things in this moment. The fact that the chair has wheels, allowing you to push back and show her just how happy you are to see her; the fact that despite her whining, you insisted on wearing your button fly jeans instead of the black dress pants she'd packed for the occasion, and finally, for Veronica herself, because instead of being repulsed or even shocked, she actually looks down for a minute before slapping you. Which you can't exactly blame her for, even though it does sting.

"I can't believe you applied to medical school and didn't tell me." She murmurs after a quiet moment, her eyes sad as they look into yours. Her shoulders have slumped in the way you know spells defeat. "I can't believe you applied to medical school halfway across the country, and only told me as an after sight-_because you got in_. Would you have told me if you hadn't?" There's no answer to this one. She knows what she wants to believe and she also knows what she thinks you'll tell her. No matter what you do, it won't help, so you don't answer.

"I didn't think I would get in." You mumble, and it's the truth. Never in a million years did you think you would get into the medical program of Johns Hopkins. Never. You didn't throw around your name or your money-at least not a lot of it, but you'd gotten in. Expecting rejection and getting acceptance is possibly the best experience ever. Well, after being with Veronica, at least. There isn't anything better than that, and you want to tell her so, but somehow you doubt it'll make a difference now.

"Do you expect me to look at you lovingly and say, oh _Logan_, you can do anything you put your mind to? It would be a great credit roller." You shrug, because you hadn't thought that far in advance. You just want her to not be mad at you anymore, but you're not sure how possible that is. You tell her so anyway.

"Veronica, the only thing I want is for you not to be mad anymore. I know you are, and I know I fucked up, and I know there's no going back, but I am sorry." This time, when your fingers brush her cheek, she doesn't pull away.

"I just…you never mentioned wanting to be a doctor. Do you remember BIO2 Freshman year? You almost passed out when the professor dissected the pig heart. Remember?" You can feel a wave of nausea rising in you as the scene-a once repressed memory, flashes before your eyes. "And you want to do it for a living?" Her tone isn't accusatory, as you'd expected. It's _confused_. Which you can't really blame her for. Before you can even speak, she's cutting in again, her eyes lighting with amusement. "Did you watch one too many episodes of _ER_ and suddenly get the urge to do it? Because I get it completely. When George Clooney was on it, I was so there."

"Veronica, you were _12_ when George Clooney left."

"Hello, reruns? Plus, the man has kept in shape the past 10 years. Maybe I'll give him a call when my boyfriend leaves the state."

"I knew there was a reason I hated that show," You grumble, absurdly pleased with the direction of the conversation. Pop culture banter always means one thing, no matter how long it takes to get there. "If you must know, _House_ was my inspiration."

"Robert Sean Leonard is a mighty attractive man. I've heard he's single too."

"Veronica." Your tone is warning. You can't help it. You hate it when she mocks you like this, even though you have to admit that RSL really is the man. You cringe. You're _such_ an inner fangirl sometimes, it scares you. If Veronica ever stops being mad at you, you'll share this inner light shedding with her. She'll get a kick out of it.

"And to think, I thought you watched because of bad dye job girl. Jennifer something. The one that was in that skateboarding movie with Adam Brody…the one they're always calling gorgeous when she _really_ isn't. All this time I was getting annoyed that you kept watching those DVDs over and over when really; you were practicing for your future. _Bravo_."

"It isn't like that, Veronica. Wallace said-" _Uh-oh._

"Wallace?" All traces of amusement drain from her face. "_Wallace_ knew you applied to medical school before I did?" Right. "I know the two of you have that male bonding thing going on, but does _he_ sleep with you every night? Does he make you chicken soup with the stars in it when you're sick? Do you know how hard it is to find Campbell's Chicken Soup with the stars instead of just regular noodles anymore? No, of course not, because you're not out there buying every spare can you can because it's the only thing your boyfriend will eat when he has an upset stomach. Good luck having Wallace do that. Jane does his laundry. And they live in separate _states_." This time she makes it as far as the door. Panic like you've never felt before rises within you, and you wish you'd just never said anything. Even if she leaves you, even if she never speaks to you again and moves out of the loft tomorrow, you're not going to Johns Hopkins. You could never be that far away from her.

"Veronica," You're at her side in a matter of seconds. The straps holding together her dress are coming loose again, and your fingers itch to untangle them, even though that's possibly the worst idea you could possibly have right now.

"What?" She whips around to face you, and there's the punch to the stomach. Tears have collected in her eyes and are streaking down her cheeks.

"I didn't know Johns Hopkins was in Maryland."

"What?" She asks, because your statement is so out of nowhere, and nowhere near what she was expecting you to say.

"They have a P.O box where I sent my application." You continue, the words coming out of their own volition. Your brain has always completely shut down at the sight of her tears, and this time is no different, because for the first time in a very long while, they are your fault. "It was such a long shot, that I never thought I would get in. I kept saying I'd do research later, but I never got around to it. Then _it_ came, and we had to come to this-you've got to believe me, Bowman invited us before I even _thought_ of applying to medical school. Hell, 'Ronica, we bought our tickets before I _applied_ to medical school. I didn't do it on purpose."

"How am I supposed to believe you? How do you expect to believe that you're not hiding anything else from me, Logan?" Her words hit you exactly where it hurts. Because they're true, and because she's looking at you like you broke her heart. There really may be no coming back from this. You feel like you're going to hurl at the prospect. You can't be over because of a fuck up. You've fucked up a lot over the past four years, you consider reminding her, but you doubt she'd see the irony in it.

"I guess you can't." You mumble, breaking your eyes away from hers and looking down at your hands. You close your eyes because you're having trouble breathing now and there's a definite weight on your chest, and you wish you could just rewind an hour, just _not_ tell her. Suddenly, you feel the distinct weight of a Veronica leaning against you, her arms wrapping around your neck. For a second, you think you dreamt it all up. There was no fight. There is no medical school acceptance letter. You didn't just graduate from college last weekend. Veronica still loves you and the world is _great_. Except you can feel the wetness from her tears against your neck, and when you open your eyes, you're still in Richard Lewis' office, staring at a wall of his massive collection of vintage records and LPs. But Veronica is twined against you, so you close your eyes again, appreciating her warmth. The possibility that it might be the last time upsets your stomach.

"I love you, you idiot. You know that, don't you?" She mutters against you, and you breathe a sigh of relief, because you love her too. And even though she's said it a million times, this is definitely the best of.

"I love you too, V." She shushes you as she nods, and as her lips press against yours, the world is Okay again.


End file.
